Four Tomorrows: A Space Opera Box Set

by James Palmer

  Rebani Kalba stood imperiously, arms folded, watching the vast whiteness of hyperspace through the clear glassteel ceiling of the ship’s lounge, located on the uppermost deck. He appeared lost in thought.

  As he shuffled into the lounge, it seemed to Josef’s surveillance equipment that the Sabour saw more than milky whiteness and ebony dots in H-space, but this did not compute. An understanding of the mystical was beyond his programming.

  Rebani turned to face the valet-bot as if waiting for him.

  “Greetings,” hummed Josef’s holotronic voice.

  Rebani Kalba, face devoid of emotion, nodded to the valet-bot in welcome. “Has your master found out what he wished about the gem?”

  “I do not know to what you are referring, sir,” stammered the valet-bot.

  “You are a very poor liar, Josef,” said Rebani, holding up a hand to silence the ‘bot’s forthcoming protest. “It’s all right. You did only as your master bade. I cannot blame you for that.”

  “That is kind of you, sir,” rejoined Josef in a sympathetic tone.

  The Sabour frowned slightly, as if being called kind was distasteful to him. “The gem has thus far resisted my attempts to learn more about it, and I fear your master will fare no better. But if he does, I will be interested in the results.”

  An awkward silence followed. Finally, Josef said, “If I may ask, how did you know?”

  Rebani’s emerald eyes glittered, and seemed to look through the metal valet-bot. “I know where the gem is the same way you know where I am aboard this ship. You cannot help it. Neither can I.”

  The Sabour’s face relaxed noticeably, and he almost smiled. “You may want to tell your master that.”

  “Yes, sir.” Josef shuffled from the room, leaving Rebani Kalba to contemplate the unending spacescape.

  Although travel by privately-owned starships was a simple thing – start where you are and fly to your destination – it was somewhat more complicated in the beginning for commercial vessels. It just wasn’t cost effective to travel in this method, because of the much greater masses that had to be propelled into hyperspace, so trade routes were developed between major planets, each a hub with lesser trade routes radiating outward, and each of these minor worlds had their own, even lesser traveled routes, and so forth, until the Milky Way was a spider web of trade routes of varying importance and traffic. These had carried over into the days when space travel was somewhat more convenient, being based on established commerce between worlds.

  The planet Kell, being centrally located in the canton of space adjacent to that of Annalon, was a minor hub of commercial trading. Bal Tabarin had visited the planet many times.

  Kell was a sandy wasteland, populated by a nomadic people. Over the millennia, cities had sprung up where great annual trading fairs took place, and it was in one such city that Kell’s single spaceport was located.

  Bal Tabarin and Rebani Kalba sat in the cockpit of Bal’s ship as it entered the atmosphere of Kell. From space, the planet was a marble of beige and rust, intertwined eddies of solid earth, contrasting minerals strata. The Sabour studied the surface while Bal busied himself with landing preparations.

  “This is The Hyperspace Fox requesting landing clearance,” Bal said into the holocommunicator, uneasily eyeing Rebani as he did so. If the Sabour noticed the name change of the ship, he didn’t show it.

  Bal listened to the response from the spaceport, then diverted The Vagabond Lady.

  “Malekitharsis,” he informed Rebani, nodding in the direction of the city, which loomed ahead.

  Composed of tall towers and squat buildings topped by faded green domes of copper, the city was constructed of large stone blocks held together by mortar, and ancient, going back to the earliest construction on the planet. With the exception of the addition of the spaceport, Malekitharsis probably hadn’t noticeably changed in two thousand years. The tallest tower, capped by a scarlet pennant, marked the spaceport. It, too, was built in the traditional style, with native construction materials.

  Bal guided the ship to the spaceport, and set it down in the designated out-of-the-way landing bay. Without discussion, Rebani accompanied Bal to the entrance of the ship, where Josef stood waiting, the Sabour’s greatcoat in hand. Bal asked him, “Aren’t you coming along?”

  “I am sure I can find something which requires my attention aboard ship, sir,” Josef drawled, handing Rebani his cloak. Bal shrugged non-comittally, and pressed a button on the wall that opened the ship’s hatch. He and the Sabour disembarked.

  The air was hot, and dry, a distinct improvement over the jungle, in Bal’s opinion. The shade was at least the shade, in this arid clime. He observed that Rebani didn’t seem to notice the change from the ship’s controlled atmosphere, which was set for Bal Tabarin’s comfort.

  Malekitharsis was first and foremost a market city, laid out with a central trading area, located near the oasis that had originally brought the Kell to this spot, streets radiating outward to the city gates, resembling a great spider’s web, lined with colorful awnings and booths whose occupants loudly hawked goods and services of every conceivable type. The Kell were tall, with hairless skin bronzed by their bright sun; women had hair upon their heads. Many were tattooed. The smell that arose from the streets was a mélange of roasting meat, unleavened bread baking, and nortt dung, although the pack animals were stabled on the other side of the city from the spaceport, which lay on the outskirts of the city. A new neighborhood had sprung up around it, connecting the spaceport to the city.

  In the true spirit of commerce, a street ran directly from the spaceport to the central market, named appropriately enough “Spaceport Boulevard”. Bal led the way through the crowded street, ignoring the calls of booth salesmen. Rebani didn’t explain why he wished to accompany Bal, and Bal didn’t ask. He felt – if necessary – he could lose the Sabour in the winding streets of Malekitharsis whenever he desired.

  As the two wended their way through busy streets, Rebani observed that beneath loose robes, the Kell were tall and lanky. Dusky faces displayed colorful tattoos. He noticed that a large percentage of the natives wore a distinctive garb, light, flowing robes and head-dresses. The rest of the natives wore similar garb, but in a wider variety of fabric and color, and their robes were embroidered with elaborate designs of what seemed to be animals.

  Seeing the Sabour’s interest in the natives, Bal explained, “Those are plainly dressed for the desert.” He indicated the natives wearing the light, loose robes.

  “The inhabitants of the city,” Bal continued, “having homes to protect them from the heat, have adopted less practical clothing. You’ll also note the facial tattoos are more elaborate and varied on the desert folk. In the desert, which clan you belong to can mean life or death in certain circumstances; in the city, it’s not as important, allowing for decorative embellishment.”

  After a moment, the Corruban added, “The Kell have a strict code of honor, and are easily offended.”

  Rebani Kalba, absorbed in watching the people in the street as he walked, only nodded. Bal frowned slightly, and tried again. “Under the robes, every male carries a sword.”

  “I know,” said Rebani, still observing the street life.

  One of Bal’s furry eyebrows raised in surprise. The Kell showed no outward sign of being armed; they wore loose clothing, and were raised from birth to handle a weapon. It was as much a part of them as a limb. “Oh?”

  “It’s part of their identity,” explained Rebani. “They could more easily conceal one of their pack animals beneath their robes than their weapon.”

  Bal Tabarin merely “hmm-ed” at this claim.

  “One of our skills,” said Rebani, referring to the Sabours, “is to see what cannot be seen. It’s an advanced form of intuition. We call this skill fuze. You may think of it as a sort of ‘Gestalt sense’ – we are aware of everything in our surroundings.”

  Bal was very interested in this. Although he had been tested, and possessed no
psionic potential – like most humans – he was an enthusiast for arcane and occult knowledge. But Rebani said no more, and presently they reached the central market, where Bal examined each booth they passed. He finally found one that sold the types of supplies he was in need of.

  When the Corruban reached for one of the desired goods, his hand bumped that of a Kell who was interested in the same item. Still pondering the Sabour’s ability, he failed to make the appropriate social gestures.

  Before Bal knew what was happening, he saw Rebani’s hand clamp down upon that of the Kell’s – which had the effect of preventing the giant from drawing his hidden dagger.

  “He meant no offense,” said the Sabour in an iron voice clothed in velvet.

  The Kell’s golden eyes shifted from Rebani to Bal and back again.

  “Tell him you’re sorry, Bal,” instructed the Sabour.

  “My apologies,” the Corruban said, making the appropriate gestures in the formal Kell manner that indicated his acknowledgment that the blame was his, and his desire for forgiveness.

  “Very well,” the Kell said, nodding curtly.

  Feeling the desire for revenge leave the tattooed giant, Rebani removed his hand, freeing the Kell. Without another word, the native turned and walked away, convinced that he had narrowly avoided death.

  “You were saying something about being careful,” Rebani Kalba said dryly.

  “Well, I was right, wasn’t I?” Bal Tabarin responded in a sheepish tone. He mentally reproached himself for letting his guard down, then returned to the business of buying his item.

  In the language of the Kell, Bal greeted the merchant, and praised his goods. From a belt pouch, he pulled a holo-manifest, and showed it to the booth merchant, who inspected it carefully, conspicuously mouthing the names of the items Bal needed as he read the list. Bal watched the face of the merchant closely, in order to determine where he planned on raising the price of a particular item. He possessed many years’ experience haggling with local merchants, and knew their ways well.

  The Kell were, at heart, traders, and they had welcomed the people from the stars, with their unheard-of items for sale. Haggling with the Kell was an art. Like poker, a player had to be able to read the actions and facial expressions of an opponent to determine what he really had, and what he really wanted. Of course, you had to prevent him from learning the same about you. It was a contest of skill, negotiating with a Kell.

  Bal’s concentration was abruptly broken by Rebani Kalba. “I’ll meet you back at the ship in two chronons,” he said. Bal almost didn’t hear him, so intent was he on the haggling, which was reaching a crescendo.

  Bal Tabarin finally negotiated a reasonable deal with the merchant – though both openly swore they would be bankrupted by the transaction – when Bal realized the Sabour had gone. He dimly recalled Rebani’s words.

  The Sabour could take care of himself, Bal told himself, and if not, too bad. Bal had warned him to be careful. Then he gave a violent start when he realized Rebani might have the gem with him.

  Realizing there was nothing he could do about it, Bal Tabarin shrugged, and left to sample the native cuisine, of both food and women, which were each known to possess quite a spicy tenor.

  Rebani Kalba stood out from the others in the back street. Though not so different physically from many of the other off-worlders, his demeanor was one of unflinching confidence, as if the city belonged to him, and the people there were present at his convenience. It took a lot of confidence to be a Sabour, and Rebani’s was more than sufficient to the task.

  “Off-worlder,” a thin voice called out in Lingua Galactica, the Language of the Galaxy, the official tongue of the Galactic Union, otherwise known as Standard.

  Rebani Kalba followed the sound of the voice to an old woman whose dusky skin resembled wrinkled parchment, her graying hair pulled up in a top-knot, and wore blue robes and matching head-dress. She sat at a small table under a faded red canopy, surrounded by a variety of arcane objects, including cards and crystals. “I’ll tell your fortune for ten econs.”

  Rebani stepped closer, under the shade of the canopy, and, retrieving a ten-econ coin from a belt pouch, tossed it onto her table; more primitive worlds preferred physical monies to holotronic ones, and it was a foolish traveler who did not carry both forms.

  The woman scooped up the coin, smiling slightly to herself at the gullible off-worlder, then peered at him, tall, gaunt, sheathed in black. She looked into his piercing green eyes, searching for a sign to what he would like to hear.

  Rebani gazed back silently into the old woman’s dark eyes. After a moment, the fortuneteller gasped audibly, her wrinkled face twisting in fear and surprise.

  “Take your money and go,” she spat, throwing the coin back at Rebani. “Go!”

  The Sabour caught the coin easily in one hand, then turned and continued down the street. “I didn’t think you’d like what you saw,” he said quietly.

  When Rebani Kalba returned to the ship almost two hours later, a boy was there with a nortt, one of the spotted two-legged pack animals of Kell which had just enough tawny hair to protect it from the heat of the desert, unloading the supplies Bal Tabarin had purchased. Josef supervised the transaction, complaining at the condition of the goods, and the price paid for them. He seemed not to notice the boy didn’t understand Lingua Galactica.

  When he saw Rebani, Josef said, “We were beginning to wonder if you were coming back, sir.”

  Although he returned the valet-bot’s look, Rebani said nothing as he entered the ship. Bal, searching through bundles for a particular item, saw that the Sabour had several small packets that seemed to contain spices and trinkets. At least one bundle was particularly odiferous.

  “I didn’t figure you Sabours as shoppers,” Bal said good-naturedly, eyeing Rebani’s handful of packages.

  “I have requirements like anyone else,” Rebani said sourly, leaving the room without another word. Although thus far his fare had not been a bright ray of sunshine, Bal wondered what had put Rebani in such an unusually black mood.

  Josef entered with the last of Bal’s parcels. “Are we ready to lift-off then?” Bal asked.

  “As ready as I will ever be,” Josef said snidely. Bal Tabarin threw him a look, and went to the cockpit, still pondering the Sabour’s mood.

  3 In Which Eggs are

  Broken in Anticipation of Making an Omelet

  Tal Udont entered the small adobe structure that was his home. He was a Mendoni, thin, with leathery skin, and hairless. His dark eyes were set deep beneath a small brow ridge, and his skull was elongated, and slightly conical. He wore a golden-colored under-robe, and an outer robe, a sort of cloak, of russet, which made his reddish skin appear redder than it was. His feet bore no protection, but Tal Udont seemed not to notice the heat of the sand underfoot. Decades of going bare-footed had toughened his feet to an unusual degree.

  A few moments after he entered the plain, sparsely-decorated building, a holotronic voice called out calmly, “You have one message from Rebani Kalba.”

  Smiling in the odd way Mendoni did, lower lip only, his upper lip resembling a beak, Tal Udont seated himself on an over-stuffed pillow trimmed with gold fringe. “Play,” he said in a soft voice, his rigid upper lip causing a slight lisp. A single hard gum showed inside his mouth as he spoke.

  The small, semi-transparent image of Rebani Kalba appeared on the low, circular table near the pillows lining the floor. His face was hard, Tal Udont noticed, the way it had been when he had returned from Udehle, those long years ago.

  The image bowed slightly. “Greetings, Tal Udont,” it said in a hollow voice. “I hope that you are well. I have found a gemstone that possesses an emotional content. I have been unable to determine its cause, whether it has stored emotions of past beings, or reflects emotions of those nearby ... or some other explanation.

  “It doesn’t seem to reflect my own emotions, however. Perhaps it has emotions of its own, and is some form of unk
nown primitive life, unlikely though that seems. I am continuing to investigate.” The crystal men of Klodion had evolved from such primitive gems, the Mendoni knew, although their emotional make-up was vastly different from “biologicals”.

  After a brief pause, Rebani added, “My destiny lies with this gem.”

  Tal Udont heard the unspoken words “I must do what I must do”. He knew the tone. It worried him.

  He glanced at the perimeter display of the transmission, and saw the message had been sent from Kell, a planet with which Tal Udont was unfamiliar. It also told him Rebani was not waiting for a response.

  The image of the man who was like a son to Tal Udont flickered and disappeared.

  Tal Udont rose from the large pillow, and went outside, the hot Mendant sun creating a black shadow under him as he walked toward the Great Library of the monastery.

  The planet Narbossa was a bright jewel in the blackness of space, a shining, alluring combination of blue water and yellow earth. But its invitation was false. The chemical base of the planet was slightly off, and inimical to indigenous life. There were no valuable minerals to be found, no precious metals or gemstones. The only thing the planet had to offer was beautiful scenery and ideal weather. So, Narbossa had been colonized through the use of technology. Expensive technology, the type affordable only by the wealthy. As a result, the place had ended up as a sort of retirement village for the well-off and very well-off.

  The Vagabond Lady dropped out of hyperspace, and hailed the planet. The response was lukewarm, if taken optimistically. It said, in so many words, No Unauthorized Visitors.